Testing, testing, 1-2-3…

Long time ago I had a massive stroke. 2010. It was my introduction to a host of new medical devices. There was the transesophageal echocardiogram. All you get is a numbed throat while the camera goes down and looks at the heart for clots. On the other hand, you can squirm a bit and see the screen, too.

I had an internal bleed along the way, so there was a gastrointestinal endoscopy, which found nothing, down through my stomach.  I swallowed a camera to go the rest of the way. The last procedure before I was sprung from the hospital was an electroencephalogram, to check for a past seizure.

In 2010 the EEG was conducted with a gritty paste to enhance the electrode’s conduction. It took three shampoos to get the nastiness out of my hair. All these tests simply enhanced the skills of the operators; the source of the clot was never located, the source of the internal bleed not located, and no evidence ever of a seizure. My life returned to normal.

Then one day last March, the Red Bus sent me down the aisle and fractured my skull. Several times during the week I was kept unconscious in George Washington University Hospital I “dreamed” glass beads were falling and clicking against each other.  When my neurologist here at home scheduled a follow up EEG I realized the source of the clicking; it was the technician recording brain patterns with the mouse. And still, no seizure evidence.

Now I have a new neurologist. My old neurologist became so frustrated with the state of medicine he followed his dream and is doing research at OSU. I almost said he found medicine ‘seized up’, but I didn’t.

The new neurologist wants all tests done over. Old patient resists; all have been done in the last six months or so. “I won’t release you to drive,” says new neurologist. Old patient laughs. “You cannot quit Keppra,” says new neurologist. Old patient submits to new brain MRI. At the next office visit, new neurologist says brain MRI is pretty close to perfect, but he needs an EEG.

I’m obviously unhappy with this; my last EEG is still pretty hot off the press, and fine. No, he needs to see the recording. Knowing George Washington sent complete medical records to all and sundry, I told him to check with them. I know I kvetched here recently on learning he spent a month not getting the record.

On Monday, in the middle of a hot pinochle game with the Methodists, his assistant called me. There were no EEG’s at GWUH. Long pause. Several retorts came to mind. I considered the hopelessness of explaining glass beads, so I said “Now what?”

“Doctor would like you to come in for an EEG.”

It’s scheduled. I wonder how many more EEG’s I can have before Medicare cuts me off. I wonder who’s making the money, here while I have nightmares from Keppra.